


Bite

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Scott is a Bad Friend, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: "I don't want to be like you," Stiles says, but in some ways he already is. In other ways, they only become similar as the years pass.





	Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BleedingBlueKunoichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBlueKunoichi/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this fic, BleedingBlueKunoichi! Happy holidays :D

It takes a long time for Stiles to say it. He thinks about it a lot throughout the years, but for the longest time it doesn’t feel right. At first, he doesn’t trust Peter. Then when there’s trust, there’s lack of time. When there’s time, there’s lack of incentive. But one day after a full moon night of wolfy puppy piles and cooking up a storm with Boyd and his dad, Stiles looks around and thinks _yeah, I want that_.

Granted, he’s come a long way since the first time he’d said no.

 

*

 

“I don’t want to be like you,” Stiles says so long ago, snatching his hand out of Peter’s grip. And then when Peter just accepts it, when he crushes Stiles’ car keys and tries to keep him out of the confrontation at the old Hale house, Stiles looks at the car beginning to drive away from him and says, “Even if in some ways I already am.” He doesn’t think Peter will hear him, but the car stops, engine still running. Heart feeling like it’s going to explode in his chest, Stiles strides over to the car and opens the passenger side door. “If you keep it to just the people responsible, I’ll help you.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “You won’t be much help as a human.”

“I wouldn’t be of any use at all while my body’s healing from the bite—which I still don’t want—but I can make a mean Molotov cocktail.”

“The last one you made was a failure,” Peter says, but he still looks like he’s considering Stiles’ words.

“That was Lydia’s. I’m not going to trust Jackson to hand me things.” Without waiting for Peter to say yes, Stiles ducks inside the car and closes the door beside himself. Peter’s the one at the wheel this time, but Stiles doesn’t feel any more terrified than he already did. He isn’t sure it’s possible. He tries not to flinch when Peter reaches out and runs a hand over the side of his face, his jaw, his neck. It’s not sexual, not exactly, but there’s something intense in Peter’s eyes all the same. Scent-marking, the part of his brain that isn’t frozen with fear thinks.

“You’ll join my pack?” Peter asks, and it’s almost not a question. “Tell me why. I’ll know if you lie to me.”

“As a human, yeah,” Stiles makes sure to clarify. And fuck, he doesn’t know why. He knows instinctively that joining Peter to get information or leverage is going to fail big time. But... “Scott’s a werewolf now. I don’t like the thought of hunters like Kate being alive and willing to kill him without reason. I’m not against making sure Kate never gets the opportunity to hurt him.”

“That’s _a_ truth,” Peter replies, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Tell me the deeper one.”

“We’re a lot alike.” Except the fact that he sees a lot Peter’s traits in his own self should send him in the other direction, not encourage him to get into the man’s car.

“Deeper.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be on the losing side.” Stiles doesn’t think a baby werewolf and a moody nephew are going to keep Peter down. Maybe not even Kate will, because Peter is mad, but he’s resolute in his vengeance.

Peter’s thumb trails across a pressure point on Stiles’ neck, but doesn’t dig. “Deeper.”

It feels as though Peter’s trying to peel away every layer, but Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to confront what’s at the very center. He forces it out anyway, trying not to let the words bother him, “You want me. In your pack.”

Him, Stiles Stilinski, last guy to be picked for any sports team, only one friend and even that friend hasn’t returned half his calls and texts since Allison entered the picture. And yet Peter actually seems to want him around, wants him in his pack even as a human. Even if he’s secretly planning to covert Stiles to werewolfism later. But if that’s the case, Stiles will show him what’s up.

Pack is serious, but it’s not permanent. If Peter can kill Laura, Stiles will find a way out if he needs to, if this turns out to be a horrible decision. He shies away from the thought of yet another corpse on Beacon Hills ground, but Stiles will match Peter in determination if it comes to it.

“I do,” Peter agrees, and slams on the gas. “You’re mine now, Stiles.”

Stiles’ heart skips a beat, but it’s not out of fear.

 

*

 

Stiles throws, Kate burns, and Peter rips her throat out, his eyes glowing red. And then he looks at Stiles, standing in front of Allison, who’s lost her weapon. Stiles is ready to fight him somehow if he has to. Stiles won’t beg, because if he has to resort to begging then the battle’s lost anyway, but he locks his jaw and faces Peter’s red eyes. There’s wolf and man in those eyes, but Stiles doesn’t know which one he hopes wins out. The wolf has gotten its vengeance; the man had still turned toward Allison. Stiles frantically thinks of exit strategies that don’t involve Peter ripping his throat out for protecting an Argent, but then Peter’s chin dips the slightest bit. A nod.

“Tell me you didn’t know,” Peter says, looking at Chris.

“You have my word that I didn’t,” Chris says, straightening. He’s only a lunge away from Allison. “I follow the code. Me, Victoria... my daughter now that she knows.” He looks at the body on the ground as he says, “Kate always thought I was too soft.”

If Chris is thought soft—Chris, who hadn’t cared whether Scott and Derek got caught up in his hunt for the Alpha, who’d attacked without even proving that they were a part of the Alpha’s pack—then Stiles doesn’t want to meet another hunter for as long as he lives. But if he stays in Peter’s pack, Stiles doesn’t think he can avoid it. The rational part of his mind wants to escape Beacon Hills. The completely irrational part, the one that looks at Peter and empathizes, has him take a step forward.

“Stiles, don’t—” Scott says from next to Derek, the two only the barest motion away from attacking Peter. If Peter had gotten any closer to Allison, this standstill wouldn’t even be happening. It would simply be back to fighting, but Stiles is so sick of fighting. With Scott, with himself.

If, if, if, and Stiles takes another step as Peter looks at him with something like pride.

“What are you doing?” Derek snarls, but Stiles ignores him.

“Thanks,” Stiles when he comes to a stop barely an arm’s length away from Peter. It’s not exactly for not killing Allison, because refraining from murdering innocent people should be a default for Peter, not an exception. But thanks for keeping your word isn’t something he can say without revealing just how terrified he’d been of Peter being even worse than Stiles had feared.

“I gave you my word,” Peter says, the red bleeding from his eyes. The shift fades from his face, returning him to a human facade. Stiles knows too much to ever mistake him for completely human, but apparently he doesn’t know enough to keep himself from recognizing how handsome Peter is. “You gave yours, too.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, turning back toward the others but not stepping any further away from Peter. Scott looks so betrayed as Stiles says, “I joined his pack when he asked. Sorry. Looks like the Stockholm sets in real quickly.”

Peter’s hand settles on his shoulder. Stiles blames everything but himself for the fact that it induces more ease than fear in him. Oh, there’s still a lot to be afraid of, but the foundation for something is there now. Swallowing, Stiles realizes that foundation might be formed atop of the shattering of his and Scott’s.

Before Scott can speak, Peter says to Chris, “I want you and yours gone from Beacon Hills by the end of the week. There’s nothing for you here. I’ve dealt with those responsible for my family’s deaths.”

“You have my word,” Chris agrees. “As long as no suspicious activity comes from this town from now on.”

“Dad, what? He killed Aunt Kate—”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Your aunt murdered ten members of his family.”

“And he took Laura’s life,” Derek snarls.

“I did what she refused to do,” Peter replies, resolute. There is no anger in his voice, but no kindness, either. “What she should have done in the weeks following the fire instead of coming back here six years too late and trying to stop me. I don’t want to kill you, Derek.”

“You can’t lie to me. Of course you want to kill me. Your heartbeat knows it.”

“Then listen to it when I say: I’m not going to kill you unless you try to kill me first. Do you hear a lie there?” At Derek’s shake of his head, Peter continues with, “You joined me once already, even if you were only trying to trap me and take the Alpha power for yourself. I’ll give you another chance if you can put the past behind us. Scott, your turning was a mistake, but you won’t survive long as a packless omega. You’ll either join my pack or find another Alpha. Talk it over with Derek.”

“I’m not going to join you,” Scott is quick to say.

“Pity,” Peter replies, sounding anything but sincere. “Stiles, come with me.”

Scott turns that same angry look from Peter to Stiles.

“You can come with us,” Stiles says. He tries to convey everything he’s feeling with his eyes. Every tether of friendship that hasn’t been broken through Scott’s attempts to kill him or vanishing off with Allison. “You don’t have to forgive him or trust him, but he’s still the Alpha.”

“I could’ve been human again,” Scott shoots back.

“That’s a lie. Derek, you know better than that,” Peter says. “If anything, Derek would have simply used the opportunity to rip out my throat. Do you deny it, nephew?”

Derek scowls at him, but he doesn’t deny it. Scott looks torn between the rest of them and Allison, but Chris shoots him a look as they head out of the preserve that so clearly says to stay away. Allison looks shaken now that most of the danger has dissipated. For their sakes, Stiles hopes they really do leave Beacon Hills. Maybe for Peter’s, too, because he can’t imagine them being anything but horrible reminders for him.

And Scott… “You have my number,” Stiles says, as though that hasn’t been true for a decade. And yet, Scott’s been forgetting it more and more lately.

“Okay,” Scott says. “I’ll call you.”

Stiles is so glad he’s not a werewolf, because he doesn’t want to know the truth in Scott’s words. Peter’s hand is warm as it rests on his shoulder the entire walk to the car. There’s still a body in the trunk, Stiles thinks, nearly hysterically. He hopes Peter has plans to deal with Kate’s, because he doubts anyone else is in the right frame of mind, and he doesn’t want to try out Derek’s godawful body-burying skills again.

As they reach the car, Stiles asks, “Where are we going?”

“Well, you’re not planning to walk home, are you?”

“And of course you’re not giving Scott or Derek a ride. Real nice of you, Alpha.” Stiles says the word as a joke, as a reminder of the fact that an Alpha should care more about Scott getting home alright and Derek not sleeping in a house that’s one gust of wind away from crashing down, but it comes out all wrong, like Stiles actually means it.

Peter’s smirking at him and Stiles splutters trying to deny any meaning behind the word, but the fact remains that Stiles agreed to join the guy’s pack and Peter is an Alpha. Stiles’ Alpha, technically.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bite?” Peter asks, cutting into Stiles’ rambling.

Stiles peers at him. “Are you going to force me into it?”

“No. You’re already my Beta, werewolf or not. But you’d make a magnificent wolf, Stiles.”

“Still no,” Stiles says.

“Do you know what I heard?”

“A lecture about consent being sexy,” Stiles replies, voice firm. He doesn’t want to be a werewolf, but despite everything, he thinks he still wants to be here right now.

Peter sighs at him, but he doesn’t press the subject.

 

*

 

A year later, Stiles wakes up to the jumble of smells that even his human nose can determine as the hospital. His stomach turns as he realizes there’s an IV in his arm in addition to the ache coming from his ribs. With a groan that barely escapes his bruised throat, he opens his eyes and tries to be happy that his arm isn’t in a cast, which means it’s not broken. He’d been seriously worried about that for a while there. Actually, he’d been more worried about his life than his arm, but at least now he won’t have to deal with an itchy cast.

He must be more out of it than he realizes, because it takes Stiles a few blinks to realize Peter’s in a chair right next to his bed, hand wrapped around Stiles’ wrist. It’s nice, warm, and fuck, he’d been so cold and scared.

“Did she make it?” he asks hoarsely. “Heather? The others?”

He’d been so stupid, but Scott had been even stupider, and they may not be the friends they used to be, and they definitely weren’t pack, but he’d still tried to help. He’d called Peter, but there just hadn’t been any time, and then he’d been trapped under that murderous tree trunk with a nogitsune-possessed Heather talking about how happy she was to finally be free. Stiles had really thought he was going to die.

Peter locks his jaw instead of gripping Stiles’ hand tighter, which Stiles appreciate. “Everyone is alive. The nogitsune died in the process of Heather turning and I didn’t murder those two idiots like I very much wanted to.” A whoosh of air, and there’s something so horrible about the desperation in Peter’s voice as he, says, “You could have died, Stiles. Do you understand that? If your injuries had been the slightest bit more severe I would have bit you. You don’t want to be a werewolf— fine. But I won’t see you dead.”

“You like me,” Stiles says, quirking his lips. And more so when Peter can’t seem to decide between biting him now or just smothering him with a pillow at Stiles’ glibness.

Stiles hadn’t realized the third option would be sincerity, but it is.

“Of course I do.” Peter can’t seem to stop touching Stiles, the hand that’s not on his wrist now carding through his hair. Stiles has grown it out since sophomore year, and it’s nice, soothing. Belatedly, he sees black running through Peter’s veins and realizes what it means that he still feels a bone-deep ache despite Peter’s best efforts. It’s going to take so long to heal, but not long enough for Stiles to give up his humanity. He thinks about it sometimes, what it would be like to be a werewolf, but he’s not ready. Stiles doesn’t know if he will ever be.

Stiles looks down at the way their hands are joined together, at the way there’s still a little blood under his nails. He doesn’t want to be a werewolf right now. But, “If I’m ever really hurt... you can bite me.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” Peter grumbles, leaning in to press his face into Stiles’ neck.

They’re touching at so many points already, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough and Stiles has long since given up trying to convince himself that it’s just because Peter’s his Alpha. As a human, even one with a spark, the pack bond doesn’t carry that much weight. This, all this, it’s just him. He winces as he brings his other hand to rest on the the back of Peter’s neck, rubbing at the closest section of Peter’s hair. Quietly, Stiles says, “Yeah, you were. As a trade-off you can sneak me some proper healing food into this place. I want chocolate. Twix, not your gross fancy dark chocolate.”

He can feel the curve of Peter’s lips against his skin, and the swell of affection doesn’t fade even when Peter says, “I’ll check with your doctor if you can have any.”

“You’re so cruel,” Stiles says. He tugs at Peter’s hair until the man lifts his face just enough for Stiles to look him in the eye, to see his own want reflected in Peter’s eyes. He’d been so scared, thinking he was going to die without ever getting to do everything he wanted. And he wants this so damn much. He lifts his head and Peter meets him halfway, the kiss as gentle as Peter’s grip and yet it’s everything Stiles has ever wanted. When Peter lets him go, Stiles can’t keep a straight face as he says, “You’re mine now, Peter.”

It’s so very true, though.

 

*

 

”I could just not go,” Stiles frets for the thousandth time, glancing between his packed Jeep and Peter. All of his belongings are already packed in boxes or stuffed in between the boxes after they’d run out of containers. Lydia’s car is parked on the side of the road, where she’s helpfully scrolling through her phone and ignoring them as Stiles considers dropping out of college before even arriving there.

Peter’s smile is hopelessly fond as he throws Stiles his keys. “You’ll be fine. And if you need me, I’m only a three hour drive away.”

“What if I need you immediately?” Stiles grumbles, slipping the keys into his pocket. He’s already said his goodbyes to his dad, but that was easier than saying goodbye to Peter. His boyfriend, his Alpha, his, well, Stiles isn’t a swooning damsel in a Victorian romance novel, but Peter’s still kind of his everything.

“Texting and FaceTime.”

“I won’t have anyone to cuddle with.”

“I could order Lydia to help you out,” Peter says, faux thoughtfully.

“She’d stab me with her pointiest pencil,” Stiles replies. “And then she’d blackmail someone in Beacon Hills to stab you, too.” She’d been the second person to join Peter’s pack, but training her in her banshee powers had only made her more vicious, not less. At least now most of that viciousness is directed at people outside their pack.

As if sensing them talking about her, Lydia honks at them again. Stiles flips her off and throws himself at Peter, hugging him tightly. It’s the first time he’s going to be away from Peter for any length of time since they’d met. And sue him, but it’s going to be hell.

Despite his careless words, Peter’s arms are tight around him. He’s quiet for a long moment, until he says with some amusement, “You know, if you took the bite, we’d at least have a pack bond to connect us.”

Stiles huffs and hugs him even tighter. “Sorry, I don’t think I have time to change species between now and orientation. Also, Lydia would kill me if I made us late.” It should be easier to go to college three hours away since he’s not a werewolf, but it’s really not. “I’ll come back.” For every break and for good one day.

“I know you will,” Peter says. “I’ve never had any doubt.”

The next time Lydia honks, she interrupts a very ardent making out session, and Stiles finally manages to pry himself away. Peter looks like he’s only barely forcing himself to let Stiles go.

 

*

 

When Stiles comes back for good four years later, it’s to a rebuilt Hale house and closet space in Peter’s bedroom and a pack now seven members strong, made up of wolves and humans dedicated to making sure Beacon Hills stays safe from supernatural threats. Sometimes, he still wonders what it would have been like if Scott and Derek had joined them, if it had been Scott instead of Boyd that Stiles mans the barbecue with under the light of the July full moon, but it’s a quiet sort of ache. It’s lightened day by day when Heather drops by the station and takes him and Jordan out to lunch, when Jordan proclaims himself to be bad at mentoring deputies but tries anyway because it’s Stiles, when Lydia calls in between taking her graduate program by storm, when Malia and Boyd join him in the theater for his third viewing of the newest Star Wars movie. It had been a dream of Stiles’ back in that first year, to keep both Scott and Peter, but he much prefers his reality. The one where he has Peter and Peter has him.

Still, there’s something else he’s been considering for a while, something that comes to a head one full moon when the light of the moon makes him wish for something more. It’s not something he needs—Stiles knows himself, knows he’s just as badass as human as anything else—but he wants it. He wants to shift and run with the moon, to understand the connection of the pack bonds that the werewolves of the pack can’t adequately describe. He just wants it, and he’s wanted it for a while, even if it’s taken him six years to decide.

A few days after his decision, he and his dad are stocking up for Boyd’s birthday party at the grocery store.

“I think I’m going to become a werewolf,” Stiles says in the middle of checking the cholesterol percentage on the bag of chips his dad threw into the cart. Pack parties are no excuse for John to ditch his diet.

“You can’t drop that sort of thing on me out of the blue,” John grumbles from down the aisle.

“I don’t think there’s a good way to lead into it,” Stiles replies, glancing over his dad. He doesn’t need John’s approval, but he’d like it, and he figures the person who had the input into half his human genes has a bit of a say in him shedding his humanity. “Are you alright with that?”

“I can’t say I’m enthused, but anything that keeps you safe on the force is a good thing in my book,” John says.

Just for that, Stiles lets him keep the chips, though he chucks the dip in exchange.

 

*

 

They’re sitting on the bed, the house empty and quiet except for the two people in the master bedroom. Peter’s already holding his wrist, tracing his veins as Stiles works through his feelings.

“I feel like we should be in a parking garage for this,” Stiles says, his heart beating fast. But it’s with anticipation, not fear. There’s something exciting about becoming a werewolf. Something that wasn’t there six years ago, something that was only just growing four years ago.

“You don’t need to do this,” Peter makes sure to say. He brings Stiles’ hand up, but only to kiss his knuckles. He says it as though Peter doesn’t want this just as much as Stiles. He’s never pushed, always taking Stiles’ opinions into consideration, but once a year or two, Peter has brought it up, jokingly, casually, in that very deliberate way of his.

“I know,” Stiles says, feeling unbelievably fond of the asshole. “I just want to.”

Peter cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair until they turn clawed and then leans in, his eyes red and bright as he watches Stiles for any sign of hesitation. Stiles has none to offer, though he has to bite down a scream as Peter’s teeth sink into his wrist. It’s over in seconds and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on his back on the bed, Peter above him. Stiles drags him down, kissing him despite the tang of blood on Peter’s teeth and the pain coursing from his wrist into the rest of his body.

“If you’re too smug about this, I’ll try out Derek’s old theory about killing the Alpha who bit you,” Stiles warns through a smile.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Peter replies, and he kisses him again.

 

*

 

The moon’s call is irresistible when it’s bright and full up in the sky, but Stiles’ howl is for the wolf who runs at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> (Peter ends up being terribly smug about what a great werewolf Stiles makes, but at least he never says I told you so.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


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